


Stealing Thunder

by caramelle



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 15:27:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10193006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: It's not that Cassian and Jyn forgot to get married.It's just that they… kind offorgotto get married.Or, the one where the war ends, taking all of Cassian and Jyn's excuses with it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> because you KNOW cassian and jyn would totally forget something as Basic as getting married.
> 
> inspired by [therebelcaptainnetwork](https://therebelcaptainnetwork.tumblr.com)!
> 
>  
> 
> if you're into visuals and such, you can find one for this fic [here](http://caramelkru.tumblr.com/post/158192644276)

 

 

 

Once the Empire falls, there's so much to _do._

 

War had brought chaos and disorder. It had consumed everything — but it had been straightforward and direct, leaving everyone with nothing to do but fight or flee.

 

When peace returns, there is much to celebrate, of course. And yet, amidst all the triumphant rejoicing, it somehow feels like everyone's overflowing plates get swapped out for entire platters, heaped twice as full as their war plates had been. Suddenly, they're trading blasters for datapads, scouring reconstruction plans instead of enemy facility blueprints, sitting in on committee meetings instead of recon briefings.

 

Truth be told, Cassian's slightly overwhelmed by all the changes, the sheer _speed_ at which they progress more than enough to daze him — but he forces himself to adjust quickly, as he always has.

 

It's basically the same pattern, anyway. Receive orders, formulate a plan, gather a team (if necessary), execute. Monitor the situation. Report, and repeat. The blanks are just filled in a little differently now.

 

If anything, he's more worried about Jyn. As helter-skelter as life could get in the Rebellion, they'd had rules and regulations. They'd had a strict hierarchy, formal procedures and policies. All Cassian's life, he's been imbibed, and instilled, and ingrained with _structure._

 

Jyn's only had all of that over the last five years.

 

(Has it really only been _five_ years? Surely it's been longer than that. Five years seems far too _short._ He can barely even remember what life had _looked_ like without Jyn Erso at his side, and he at hers.)

 

Either way, he can't even _begin_ to predict how she's going to adjust to a life of peace.

 

For one thing, she _still_ grinds her teeth whenever someone addresses her as 'Lieutenant'. It's mostly sub-conscious, and she says it's because she'd only just started getting used to 'Sergeant Major', but he knows the real reason behind her discomfort.

 

It's the same reason he still flinches slightly whenever someone greets him as 'Colonel'.

 

But all that won't matter in a roomful of senators and diplomats and ministers. No, when it comes to the unfamiliar world of politics, they have _other_ things to worry about.

 

"I'm not wearing that," is the first thing she says when she sees the dress that's been laid out for her first Senate attendance.

 

He barely manages to stifle his snort. It's probably the Senator's doing — her attempt at helping them all assimilate smoothly into a political arena, one where blaster fire is replaced by threats of a different kind. One where the kind of clothes you're wearing doesn't determine whether you live or die, but rather, how convincing and persuasive you can be.

 

To be fair, his own suit isn't _that_ bad. It's a lot _stiffer_ than he'd like, and the starched collar closes in around his throat in a discomforting way that his loose shirt and captain's jacket never did — but after countless instances of donning someone else's clothes to blend in somewhere he shouldn't be, he's learned to ignore all of that.

 

"Shut up," Jyn says instantly.

 

He decides it would be prudent not to point out that he hasn't actually _said_ anything.

 

"I don't _have_ to wear that," she says, with the air of one trying to convince oneself. Her gaze swivels to him, nose wrinkled in distaste. "Do I?"

 

He hums noncommittally, moving past her to inspect the sapphire blue garment laying on their bed. "It's a nice material," he tries half-heartedly, fingering the edge of the long flowy skirt.

 

She huffs impatiently, hands propped on her hips. " _You_ wear it, then."

 

He bites back a grin. "For some reason," he says idly, "I don't think that would go down well with the rest of the Senate representatives."

 

Jyn ends up keeping her lieutenant's jacket on.

 

To her credit, she _does_ make certain concessions. She trades out her everyday shirt for a nicer one, something deep and satiny, with small, tidy buttons and a neat Mandarin collar. She lets one of the servants take her hair out of its serviceable bun, elegantly twisting the front pieces away from her face and pinning them in place at the back of her head. She even lets a powder puff be patted onto her face, but glares down the girl who approaches her lips with a small brush coated in red paint.

 

She fidgets restlessly all the way to the Grand Convocation Chamber.

 

"It's going to get all over my _face,_ " she grumbles in the elevator, fitfully stroking a loose lock of her hair off her neck.

 

Cassian casts a quick glance at the floor indicator before reaching out to still her hand with his own, his fingers wrapping around her smaller ones to squeeze reassuringly.

 

"You look perfect," he tells her, his other hand coming up to brush a stray strand of dark brown out of her faintly kohl-rimmed eyes.

 

"Yeah, well," she mutters, still a little sullen but evidently mollified, "you're biased. So."

 

He presses his lips to the top of her head, smiling against her hair before pulling away.

 

Senator Organa takes one look at them when they arrive, but her expression is perfectly neutral. She greets them warmly, but makes no other comment beyond ushering them into their repulsorpod.

 

She does, however, shoot him a discreet look as Jyn moves ahead of them to greet Senator Garr — a look that Cassian instantly and unequivocally understands to mean _'Well, it was worth a shot'._

 

He shrugs as best as he can within the confines of his suit, trying not to grin outright in front of the other delegates.

 

It's probably for the best, anyway. For the first time, they're walking into a battleground where their reflexes and skill with a blaster won't do them any good. They've all got _much_ better things to worry about than whatever it is they wear or don't wear.

 

Funny how peace is turning out to be just as strenuous as war.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In fact, it's really only when the invitations go out for General Solo and Senator Organa's wedding that they even think of it.

 

"What's that?" Jyn asks when she notices him staring at the datapad, motionless and looking very slightly shell-shocked. "It's not another joke message from Bodhi, is it? Tell him to stop clogging up the transmissions servers for his jokes. They're never any good. And they're always about Corellian smugglers." She pauses, nose scrunching in thought. "He really needs to find some new friends."

 

"Actually," Cassian says slowly, "it's an invitation."

 

"What for?" She turns towards him, face pinching in a frown. "It's not another one of Lady Carise's parties, is it? I _really_ don't like her. I _especially_ hate having to pretend I do."

 

He turns the screen towards her. "It's a wedding."

 

Her brows shoot up in surprise, and she takes a purely reactive step forward. "A what?"

 

"Three guesses who it is," he says ruefully as she crosses over to him, one hand curling around the edge of the datapad to pull it closer for a better look.

 

"Mother of moons," she mutters, her tone tinged with disbelief. "They're really doing it."

 

"I expect it's either this, or kill each other," he observes dryly. "They're both pretty important to the New Republic, so the second option would probably be rather inconvenient."

 

"No kidding," Jyn scoffs, almost affectionately. It's definitely not a _shocking_ development. From lowly cadets to ranked officer, pilots to engineers, senators to diplomats — it seems like every person in the _galaxy_ has been rooting for a Solo-Organa wedding ever since the destruction of the Death Star II.

 

To be perfectly honest, Cassian's not even sure why he's surprised by the news. It's practically a given that the General and the Senator would, sooner or later, end up here.

 

It's just that with all that's happened — and with all that's _been_ happening — thoughts of conventional, civilian affairs haven't so much as crossed his crowded mind in what feels like _eons._

 

Jyn snorts, squeezing at his arm before pulling away.

 

"I give that nerfherder Solo five years before he fucks it up," she announces lightly as she strides away. "Ten, tops."

 

 

* * *

 

 

It turns out Han Solo's notoriously irresponsible disposition is the least of Cassian's concerns.

 

That invitation had shaken him, but not because of its source. It had been a wake-up call of the strangest kind, the likes of which he'd never experienced before in all his thirty-one years of life.

 

See, it's not that he and Jyn forgot to get married.

 

It's just that they… kind of _forgot_ to get married.

 

Well. To be more accurate, they kind of forgot about the _concept_ of marriage, _in general_.

 

Who can blame them? Both of them have been soldiers far longer than they've been lovers. War has a habit of doing that — pushing mundane, everyday things like _marriage_ to the back-burner, on and on and again and again, out of sight and out of mind, until they disappear from existence altogether.

 

And then one day, the dust finally settles, and they reappear.

 

People are getting _married._  People like  _them._ _Their_ people, their _friends_ are getting married.

 

That's a _thing_ again. A thing that can actually _happen_ now.

 

So… why isn't it happening to him and Jyn?

 

He supposes it's because neither of them have actually _thought_ of it. They're both so used to focusing on the task at hand, gathering intel and solving problems and fighting enemies, never really sparing a thought for their own personal lives. Hell, aside from each other, they don't even really _have_ personal lives. It's a luxury none of them have been able to afford for a very, very long time.

 

But still, it's a little disconcerting that General Solo and Senator Organa, as dysfunctional and — let's be honest — as _rocky_ as their romance is, have somehow managed to arrive at this particular milestone before he and Jyn ever even thought to look for it.

 

Not that anyone's _competing,_ of course. It's just that… well, he and Jyn have had their shit figured out far longer than Han and Leia have!

 

(That's _really_ not him trying to be antagonistic, or _mean,_ or whatever _._ It's just _facts,_ all right?)

 

"It doesn't matter," he mutters to himself, as he rifles through his desk in search of a memo. "It doesn't _matter._ "

 

It's just a piece of paper. It's just a stupid little piece of paper, signed in a superficial little ceremony.

 

He loves Jyn. Jyn loves him. They've fought together, saved each other countless times, nearly _died_ together several times more. They've stuck by each other through five years of war-torn devastation, through tough calls and impossible decisions, through asteroids colliding and planets imploding.

 

They don't need to prove anything to anyone — least of all with a piece of paper and a ceremony.

 

But then he thinks of all the times people have mistaken them for more than just partners and lovers. All the times people have voiced assumptions on the nature of their relationship. All the times someone offhandedly referenced Jyn as _'your wife'_ , and all the times he offhandedly brushed it off, ignoring his pulsing heart as it swells and balloons, lifting in his chest.

 

They'd had other things to worry about then. Bigger things. Life-or-death things.

 

Things that _don't exist anymore_ — not in this New Republic, this new world they've both helped to birth and build.

 

He gives up searching for the memo, blowing out a taut breath as he rakes a rough hand through his hair.

 

All right, fine. Maybe it _doesn't_ matter in the grand scheme of things… but so what? It matters to _him._ Hey, if he's brave enough to face down a mobile AT-AT armed with only a single blaster, he's sure as hell brave enough to admit _that._ (Maybe not out loud, though.)

 

More importantly, if it matters to _Jyn_ , too, then — why the hell not?

 

 

* * *

 

  

A pair of large, brown eyes study him intently, slender fingers steepled before them.

 

"Let me get this straight," Senator Organa says, steady and slow. "You're asking me...  for a day off."

 

"Or two," Cassian confirms with a nod. He pauses. "Or — well. As many as you can give me."

 

Leia's brow arches, graceful and deliberate. "You and Lieutenant Erso, you mean."

 

"Yes, ma'am," he says instantly.

 

The senator leans back in her high-backed chair, expression inscrutable. "What about the Restoration Committee?"

 

He straightens, the rehearsed words already falling into place in his mind's eye before he can even open his mouth. "I've already consulted with Senators Garr and Vicly. Both have graciously agreed to fill in for the lieutenant and myself while we are away, however long that may be."

 

Leia's mouth curves, the corners quirking upwards. "Well," she says, an undercurrent of amusement evident in her stately tone, "it must be important, if you managed to get Varish Vicly to agree to do some actual work for a change."

 

Cassian allows himself a small smile. "It is, Senator."

 

Leia's smile melts into a full-fledged grin.

 

"Very well," she says, pulling out a datapad. "You have your leave, Colonel."

 

He reminds himself this isn't even the part to get excited about just yet.

 

All the same, when he springs to his feet, he feels impossibly light — lighter than when he'd been watching the half-finished Death Star II erupt into a blazing cluster of fireworks.

 

"Thank you, Senator," he says breathlessly, snapping into a bow.

 

"Oh, and, Colonel—"

 

He pulls up, brows lifted in surprise.

 

Leia leans forward, elbows braced on the edge of her desk. "I trust you remember when my wedding is scheduled to take place?"

 

He blinks, straightening properly to stand at pseudo-attention. "In two weeks, ma'am."

 

She nods — a small, regal dip of her chin. "Good. Because Han and I are both fully expecting to see you there." She tilts her head, like she's trying not to smile. "Lieutenant Erso as well."

 

In all his years as a soldier, Cassian's never been one to make a habit out of showing the full extent of his emotional state in front of his superiors. In fact, he's _actively_ avoided it as far as was humanly possible.

 

But, right now, as his face splits into a grin, he really can't find it in him to give a fuck about protocol.

 

"Yes, Senator," he remembers to say, nodding gratefully at her before turning to make for the exit, damn near tripping over his chair in his haste. God, he really hopes he doesn't look like he's _skipping._

 

"Give my regards to Îmwe and Malbus!" Leia calls after him, right before her door swishes shut.

 

 

* * *

 

  

When Cassian breaks the news that they've been given leave to depart Coruscant for _'personal business'_ , Jyn doesn't even miss a beat.

 

"What kind of mission is it?" she asks, large duffel bag already out on the bed as she flings clothes and other items into it, with no identifiable rhyme or reason.

 

He shakes his head, getting out his own bag to start packing as well. "It's not a mission. Like I said, it's personal."

 

Jyn's brows furrow together. "What kind of personal business would the _Princess_ have out in the Mid Rim?" she asks dubiously, not slowing down despite her evident confusion.

 

Instead of correcting her, he merely grins, both arms laden with clothes. "I thought you'd be jumping at the chance to get out for a bit."

 

"I am," she says quickly, redirecting her wholehearted attention to packing. She charges into their closet. "How long will we be gone?" she yells over her shoulder as she disappears behind the small door.

 

He shrugs lightly, dumping a small pile of shirts into his own bag. "No more than a couple weeks or so."

 

 

* * *

 

 

**A COUPLE WEEKS OR SO LATER**

 

They're not _late._ They're really not.

 

They're _almost_ late.

 

(It's a small but significant difference. Mostly because one incurs the wrath of a certain Alderaanian princess, while the other does not.)

 

They make it into the grand hall just as the music starts up, signalling for everyone to stand. They quickly squeeze into the end of a row, muttering hushed apologies to the protocol droid that nearly gets bowled over in their haste.

 

As a white-shrouded, radiant Leia reaches the altar and takes a beaming Han's outstretched hand, Jyn leans into him.

 

"Five years," she whispers, her breath warm on his jaw.

 

"Ten," he whispers back, taking the opportunity to press his lips to her temple.

 

At the reception afterwards, Han pulls Cassian into a rough hug.

 

"You kriffing bastard," the smuggler marvels, all affection as he thumps Cassian on the back. He releases Cassian, smirking pointedly at the plain gold band on his left hand. "You just _had_ to steal my thunder, didn't you?"

 

"The only one in the entire Rim who would even think it a competition," Leia says, one hand squeezing Jyn's arm. "The _only_ one."

 

"You're damn right, princess," Han says, puffing his chest out self-importantly. "That's why I'm always _winning._ "

 

"Lucky me," Leia intones dryly, before turning to accept Cassian's polite cheek kiss.

 

The newlywed couple move away, still bickering even as Han takes Leia's hand into the crook of his elbow, his fingers curled warmly over hers.

 

Jyn cocks her head once they're out of earshot, one brow raised.

 

"Was _that_ what this was about?" she asks, a distinct hint of teasing to her voice as she plays with the ring sitting on her own finger. "Stealing Solo's thunder?"

 

They're generally not into public displays of affection, but Cassian thinks this is as good a time as any for an exception.

 

"No," he says, keeping his expression nonchalant as he slides an arm around her waist. "That was more of a bonus. Your wedding present, if you will."

 

Jyn grins, pressing into his side. "Now you're just making me feel bad. I didn't get you anything."

 

He shrugs, his dispassionate facade already cracking with the beginnings of a smile. "I'm sure we can work something out," he says, his arm tightening to draw her even closer. "You know. For the rest of our lives and all."

 

She pushes up on the tips of her toes, her smile growing even wider as she leans in for a kiss. "Deal."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, comments/kudos are the kyber crystals to the lightsaber of my fic writing brain!  
> (lmao what an Unnecessary analogy djkshdjks)
> 
> icmyi, a graphic for this fic can be found [here](http://caramelkru.tumblr.com/post/158192644276)!
> 
> sometimes i float thru [tumblr](http://caramelkru.tumblr.com) like a speck of stardust


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